Trapped and Hungry
by RisingWinter
Summary: Trowa made a miscalculation and got himself caught by a terrorist cell - in other words, just another day in an ex-pilot's work. Save for the messing up part. Takes place sometime after Endless Waltz. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing

The glaring light of Trowa's cell did little to enlighten him on the identity of his captors, though he supposed he didn't need that. Getting captured and beaten after breaking into the database of one the biggest terrorist cells in the Earth Ring lent him a pretty good hint. Trowa wondered if Heero would have to wipe him before this was over – that would be troublesome for the team, but better that Trowa not be traced back to them.

"How did you find us?" asked his interrogator in western English. From what Trowa could see, the fair-skinned man wore a fine suit, though his face was beyond Trowa's sight. "You broke a code built by a room full of geniuses."

Trowa coughed, body aching with the familiar pain of hunger and prolonged sitting on the hard, loose chair below him. He was deep in when they caught him, and he didn't have the chance to eat before the alarms went off – his stomach hurt almost as much as his shame at screwing up such a basic tactic. Eating before entering the fray was good practice, though it was probably fortunate in this case. At least he didn't have to worry about throwing up despite the foul odor of rotted blood sticking to the walls here.

"Hey." The interrogator's voice reverberated through the room and he nudged Trowa with the point of his dirtied boot. "I'm asking you a question."

Trowa ignored him and focused on the space of the room. Despite the light shining in his eyes, he thought he could see the outline of the far wall. The echo told Trowa it was empty of other furniture and objects. Standard procedure for an interrogation, but the volume was telling. The sound bounced, but not so loudly that it marked a large room. He estimated forty to fifty square feet of space, clean and well-kept from the sight of the tile under his feet. Given this cell's resources, he didn't find that surprising.

"If you won't talk," the man said, "then we can help you to reconsider. You seem like you're smarter than that, though."

The interrogator had a deep, calm voice, and the toes of his boots reflected the glistening surface of a high-class aristocrat or military official. His mind wandered for a long second on the kind of dinner this man would go home to.

"I hate to do it, but my hands are tied. If you don't give me something, then I'll still protect the people I swore myself to. Don't you have someone like that in your life? Or were you born a barbarian?"

Trowa knew the man was goading a response, but he miscalculated in assuming his prisoner was susceptible to societal norms. He rocked the chair on its uneven feet, testing its strength.

The man wanted to get Trowa talking and that meant this probably wasn't a show to run through the formality of recording a confession or they would fake something with one of their own men. He couldn't discard the chance that they would use the video feed from this session to overlap with pre-recorded audio, though the man's timing didn't sound rehearsed to him.

He could say something to give them an audio sample and make it harder to superimpose foreign material. But that wasn't much of a priority for him given-…

Trowa sighed and hanged his head, prompting a hum from the interrogator. He'd been assuming these people wanted a confession, when they were _terrorists_. They didn't want justice, they wanted information, and that was the one thing he couldn't give them.

"Fine," said the man, his voice moving. He must have directed his attention to an unseen camera. "We'll have to move on to less… savory methods."

Trowa squinted against the bright light and the rumbling in his stomach. It likely wouldn't get loud enough to attract their attention, but it risked compromise all the same.

The door opened, and the interrogator stepped aside for a handful of other people to bring in a small machine that Trowa couldn't identify past the floodlight. It would be difficult to take these guys down as it was, but better to get them now than when they would flood the room after he took down the interrogator by himself.

Trowa lifted himself, still attached to the chair, and tossed himself to the side. The men reacted immediately, dropping the machine and swarming about him. Trowa spun in a circle, knocking those closest off their feet and shattering the wood beneath him.

The men shouted at the motion and someone barreled into him. They shot him with an injection and Trowa grunted, alarmed, as he tossed the man aside.

The team of – five? Six? – wrestled him to the ground before the injection's numbing effects kicked in. It barely tingled in his skin – these people didn't know the durability of pilots.

He wrestled himself out from under the dogpile, breaking one – two – three bodies against the wall before another squadron burst through the room and shot him with a dart through the shoulder. Trowa grit his teeth against the pain and tried to leap before someone took him by the ankle and tripped him to the ground.

A dozen men pinned him to the floor as three more stabbed him with needles and darts. It didn't knock him out – that would ruin the whole point of keeping him alive in the first place. Instead, Trowa felt a slight spike of fear when it only shut down his motor function.

"First question," said the interrogator as they peeled him off the ground. "Who are you with?"

Trowa managed to pull his head upright despite the loss of control in his limbs and the hands holding him upright. He looked at them. Where was Heero?

"I wonder," said the interrogator with cold dispassion in his voice, "if you're used to situations like this. You appear remarkably calm for such a young person."

They pulled some wires up and attached them to his fingers. Trowa cast his eyes lazily about, looking at the machine. From here at least, he could see that it was a standard electric conductor, probably with a low enough voltage that it was incapable of killing someone. And yet, better to die than to give up information.

He struggled against the sedation, but his limbs wouldn't react as they pulled his arms tight and wrapped them in exposed wire. The ends prickled at his skin even before being activated thanks to the short and sharp cables. He would be lucky to make it out of here without third-degree burns.

"Try the first setting," said the interrogator, circling around Trowa like a hungry cat. Trowa bowed his head again, acting the part of the prey. He could feign defeat for now – it would give him the advantage when-

His train of thought was cut off when the first volts hit him. The shock ran up his fingers and through his arm. It only lasted a second, but it left him feeling stung and on edge. The smell of burnt hair and skin rose in the air.

Humanity is weakness, Doktor S would say, and pain was human to feel. If Trowa gave in to such a small thing, he couldn't call himself a pilot. And more importantly, he wouldn't get the mission done.

"Stoic," said the interrogator, sounding impressed. "Try the next setting."

Trowa braced himself, hunger forgotten. He felt a single drop of sweat trickle down the side of his head before the next shock hit him.

It was worse this time, shooting up his arms and tingling around his shoulders. He felt the burn in his flesh more acutely this time and he clenched his teeth against the sensation.

The interrogator held up a hand that Trowa made out through his vision made fuzzy by the presence of reactive tears. The interrogator kept his face still, but Trowa could make out a certain sparkle of enjoyment in his eyes. He wondered where the man found the pleasure in this. Suffering was already so common outside these walls, why would someone in charge of a terrorist cell need more?

"You're truly an impressive specimen," said the interrogator, crouching down to his level and sticking his face near Trowa's. "It would be a waste to kill you. Tell me, what do you charge your employer for your services?"

Trowa looked to the door. Heero must have written him off as a lost cause – he'd never known the man to take so long to find a target base. He turned to see the interrogator again, who followed his gaze both ways, face closer than Trowa considered standard for most people. He could smell the stench of blood on the man, which Trowa took as a good indicator for his own fate.

"I don't," he said.

"He speaks!" The interrogator backed away, throwing his hands out to the side. "My men, we have a success here! If you'll consider that question, how about another one?"

Trowa closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. The skin of his hands and arms still burned from the shocks and his stomach churned despite being empty. If he kept quiet long enough, they would kill him and be done with it. He regretted speaking – it gave his captors motivation to push him further instead of disposing of him. Heero and Wufei would be disappointed.

"Let's keep the questions small." The man resumed his pacing. "Have you been doing this long?"

Trowa kept his eyes closed. "No."

"Hmmm. A good lie, that. How long?"

The door finally burst open and shouts erupted in the room. Trowa closed his eyes, not wanting to see the scene in which he couldn't participate due to being so uselessly sedated.

When it quieted down, a familiar voice said, "Hey. Can you stand?"

Trowa risked opening his eyes to see blood pooling in the middle of the room and Heero kneeling beside him. Trowa blinked. "Why didn't you leave me?"

"Because of Quatre's rules," Heero said. "I may not agree with them, but they're still orders. No one left behind."

Trowa nodded slowly. "Paralytics," he said by way of explanation. "They've taken out control of my limbs, and it seems to be reaching my neck now."

Heero quietly swore as he peeled the wires off Trowa. "It'll be difficult to carry you out."

"So leave me behind."

"Already told you that's not an option." Once the wires were off, Heero reached around him and helped him to his feet. Trowa's legs felt like dead weight underneath him, but he leaned against Heero with what strength he could manage.

Getting out didn't prove to be as much of an issue as Trowa expected, though he found himself fading in and out of consciousness. What he could register was Heero blasting out some men's kneecaps before they got out through the front door of a large office building. Trowa wondered where these terrorists could find such resources.

Heero shoved him into the passenger seat of a car before leaping into the driver's spot and revving the engine to life. Trowa wavered and fell against the door as Heero took off down the road, speeding them both on down the highway.

As lights passed over them, Trowa glanced toward Heero, who watched the road like it was a screen relaying details for the next mission. Gravity pushed Trowa against the wall of the car, the leather rubbing his burns and aggravating his wounds. He didn't bring it up though – Heero had to focus on getting them home without attracting the attention of the policing force and the throbbing pain lost some of its edge as Trowa adjusted.

Heero stopped them in front of a small, ordinary-looking house. There were no lights on inside, but he pulled Trowa from his seat again and dragged both up to it. When they approached the door, Heero knocked twice, paused, then three more times. A light came on and the door opened to reveal Duo, who looked at them with a look of offense.

"What happened to you?" he demanded as Heero forced his way past. "Oi!" Duo protested, closing the door behind them. "You're tracking blood on the carpet!"

Heero paused to look down at his shoes before slipping out of them and dropping Trowa into one of the couches. The house was a modest one, lightly rundown and sparsely decorated. None of the pilots had anything to add, though Sally donated a handful of framed images from their homelands.

"Paralytics," Heero offered as Duo rushed to Trowa's side. "And electrical torture."

"Parrilla or the cattle prod kind of thing?" Duo asked, pulling out a medicine kit from under the coffee table. "Doesn't look like belts."

"Just wires," Heero said, prepping the stove in the kitchen, which was divided from the living room that Trowa and Duo were in by only a partition. "You'll want salves."

"Yeah," Duo said, prepping bandages and ointments. "I got that. Hey, buddy, can you talk?"

His tongue felt heavy and his jaw sluggish, so Trowa offered him a flat look and twitched his head to the left to show what he assumed to be another burn. One of those bolts traveled high, and he felt a lingering ache from it.

"Got it." Duo set the bandages down and said, "I'm gonna remove your shirt, okay? Otherwise that turtleneck is gonna get in the way of my doctoral procedures. How long has it been? A week?"

Trowa took a breath and closed his eyes. He had avoided wearing the standard uniform to keep his cover, but civilian clothes did tend to get in the way.

"What'cha making, Heero?" Duo asked, slipping Trowa's shirt off. He couldn't see it, but the friction of the cloth coming off made it feel like he was covered from one end to the next in blisters. Duo's disgusted face didn't serve to dissuade him of that suspicion.

"Protein," Heero said, "with some other nutrients."

Duo sighed, applying the cooling ointment up and down Trowa's arms. Trowa sucked in a breath as the gel touched his skin, but a few deep breaths helped keep his mind off the pain. "Just like you," Duo said, "to take the fun out of food."

"Where's Four and Five?"

"Still out." Duo wrapped Trowa's wrists in bandages. "Last signal I received from Quatre was that he would be out longer than anticipated, and I think he's connected with Wufei."

Trowa hissed as Duo tied off the second bandage. Duo gave him a sympathetic look.

"Sorry about this," Duo said as he continued his efforts. "Wish I could break all the bones in their bodies for this."

"Consider it done," Heero said while the smell of fried vegetables filled the room.

"Good to have you back, man." Finished, Duo stood and helped Trowa back into his turtleneck.

Trowa felt some control return to him, and he flexed his mouth while Duo joined Heero at the stove. He couldn't move his legs still – how long had it been since they injected him?

"I hope you made it painful," Duo said to Heero, who didn't look up from his pan. "Paprika's good with eggs, I think. You should try that."

Trowa waited a until his hands regained motion again before trying to force his feet to move. A maddening, tingling sensation blossomed in both his feet and his hands where he felt his control return and Trowa hated that he couldn't rub or scratch at them.

Eventually, Heero flicked off the stove and Duo came over to help Trowa over to the table and set him into one of the five seats. Trowa pushed against the ground with his feet, though they felt heavy and sluggish. It would be a at least another hour before he returned to normal.

"Eat," Heero said, shoving the plate in front of him and Trowa looked down to find eggs mixed with carrots and peas. They smelled odd, like hot rubber, but he suspected that was the drug messing with his senses. He reached for a fork and Heero placed a salt shaker by his plate.

"Nice," Duo said, plopping into an adjacent seat and propping his chin on his hands. "Drugs are wearing off, then?"

Trowa worked his mouth and it tickled. "Some."

"It's a little bland," Heero said. "But it'll get your strength up."

"Thank you."

Heero turned away and shoveled food onto his own place while Trowa took a bite. It _was_ tasteless, but it felt to him like heaven when it touched his tongue. His stomach hurt at the idea of consuming food, but he forced it down anyway.

Doktor S would hate to hear it, but Trowa was relieved to be in the presence of friends again.

* * *

 _A/N:_ Just a little something I wrote during NaNoWriMo that I felt like cleaning up and posting. My family re-watched the series around Thanksgiving and I got a little re-obsessed, so I have a couple more I might put up later.


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